


Between Heavens and Still Water

by KenjiroS



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M, No Dialogue, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenjiroS/pseuds/KenjiroS
Summary: After the night has fallen, on a specific date, if one is willing to dance on burning embers, they can call good health for them and their own, and ask for luck and protection. They can ask for anything. And if one man does it alone on a bare mountain peak and nobody sees him, does it really matter what he asks for ?





	Between Heavens and Still Water

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game. How many myths/rituals/legends/deities can you count in the story ?

_The 3rd of June_

_21:30_

Darkness. And then…He broke the surface. The lake rippled around him, perfect circles under the moon path. He looked up, cold water stilling to a mirror around him. Nothing but endless mountains and bare cliffs. He could taste the snow on the highest peaks, carried on the wings of the birds and spirits. It was summer and he was alone in a lake on the top of a mountain.

He listened. Nothing. No other people. Good. He carefully stepped on the soft rise of the bank and rose from the water. Summer chill slid down his spine and he stretched up, reaching for the sky. The perfect night. Dipping down to pluck the white shirt from the ground, he walked to the circle in the grass he’d prepared earlier.

He stopped. The sun had set but the air was still electric with joy. Somewhere down, people celebrated, dancing like heathens and pretending to pay tribute to their new god. He smiled. Grass and rock and open air beneath him and silk sky littered with diamonds above him, nobody else to see. No people. No noise. Somewhere far in the distance he would see the tiny bursts of colour in the night. Fireworks. Another smile. They pretended they didn’t worship and fire and the sun and the earth and yet they called upon them and prayed and bowed down. He pulled his light linen pants up and shrugged the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned.

Green high in the air, blue and grey. Evergreens around him, climbing up and down the slopes. Fireflies above the still water, a hare twitching somewhere in the grass. He could feel them all. The Earth was turning, the waxing Moon winking from above him. The stars, so many stars, glittered like bejeweled satin. Twisting and turning, writing words and prophecies and histories long forgotten by people. But not by the eternal sky. It never forgot. Paths and oceans and forests, the night sky was a map and a mirror for those who knew how to speak to it. And where to look for the words and signs.

There, on the high and steep hills, where no human dared to lay their foot after sunset, he stood barefoot in the low grass and breathed in the stardust. Spreading his arms, he let the turn of the skies to speak. Eyes cast up, heart slowing down beneath his ribs, he watched.

Slowly.

Slowly.

So very…slowly.

The stars winked with the breeze. He felt his body lose the chill and his hair dry. And yet he stood on the edge of the black and red circle in the grass, breathing in the centuries and millennia of air curling down leaves and bark and fur. The wind touched his shirt, plucked and touched and slid down his chest, and he breathed in, eyes still up. The night kept turning, crickets lulling the water to sleep. An owl hooted, once, and then went silent. Tonight, it wasn’t its time.

Somewhere beneath his feet, down in the valleys and plains and villages, laughter rang and joy sparkled like bonfire. Giggles and kisses and stolen touches. Screams for the gods to hear and grant…He inhaled the lake and grass and feather in the air, tasting life. People called for health and fruitful year and secrets of the heart. For anyone willing to listen. He exhaled, feeling his soul reach out. He was not like them.

Up above the rivers and oceans and histories turned and rippled, the stars telling the tale of the night and day and sun and moon...And the gods who looked down from their thrones to their subjects. The crickets went quiet. He let his arms fall to his sides, still looking up and breathing deeply. The story spun like gold and dreams tangled together and he felt the lake still. The wind followed. Low, low, low under the mountain, people celebrated. Up, where he was…The moon spoke of the one who looked after the fields and tea and tiny, tiny, tiny red foxes. He blinked and lowered his gaze. It was time.

He raised one bare foot. The embers glowed, red and white and blue, sizzling where the night dew was touching them, steam and clean wood smoke rising to the Moon. The air itself stilled. He smiled. And stepped forward.

Wood cracked and popped where his feet touched the ground. He leapt and landed neatly. And listened, letting the wind guide him. The night was alive again and he danced. The circle of burning embers was wide enough he didn’t have to worry about landing on grass. The lake rippled and he danced. The crickets began the nocturnal concert and he let the sound guide his arms in an arch. Sweat went down his back, slicking his skin and sticking his shirt to his shoulders. A mouse called in the dark and he followed the sound with a fingertip. And danced.

The air sizzled, sweat dropped on the red coals and yet he danced. He knew his figure would be invisible against the scalding embers, red on silky blue and him as a black shape on the soft background. He exhaled, letting the last drops of water rise to the night sky, feeling the warmth touch his skin. And he danced.

Muscles stretching and tensing, eyes closed, he dances. Wind slid along grass and soil and talons, and rang in the air, pure heavens looking down on him, a lonely dancer on a stage of red coals. Unlike the people down the hills, he wasn’t calling any god willing to listen and lend their strength. He was calling for one specific god. So he danced.

Not for fortune or fruitful year or flocks and litters and cattle. Not for money or success or misfortune on others. Not for health or long life or status. No. He danced to call the god. To reach and almost touch them, to show his dedication and adoration. To show his love.

The embers glowed in the night but he didn’t feel them. The heat was running up and down, his clothes were sticking high on his skin and yet he danced. With the skies turning and the flowers crawling up the steep cliffs, he danced. With the crack and pop of rock and claws and translucent wings, he danced. With the ripple of water and grass and fur, he danced.

With the slide of cool flesh along his, he danced.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t alone on the embers. The stranger was slightly shorter than him, pale haired, pale eyed, pale skinned. Slim long fingers along his wrist and down, to twine with his. And he went along. Still on top of the red coals, with the night breathing around them, they danced.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, all he knew was that the embers were dying. He was running out of time, then. He stopped, feeling the coals break under his feet. The other man paused, cocking his head in question.

He stepped back, reached up. Taking off his shirt. The other man opened his mouth, hand coming to touch. Almost. Too late. It was too easy to take the garment off, pure white cotton almost glowing in the moonlight. Only for a moment. For a sliver of a heartbeat. He held it and then dropped it on top of the brightest sparks. The other stopped in his tracks, red beneath his feet forgotten.

The cloth hung there for another crack of wood and coal, and then burst into flames, smoke rising to the moon and just quickly disappearing without a trace. Now bare to the waist, he smiled again. Just a little. And stepped forward, reaching to touch the other’s hand. They still had time.

He woke up on the grass, bees buzzing around him and a butterfly on his nose. Pushing himself up, he felt something drop from his head. He rubbed his eyes and glanced down. A flower crown. An actual flower crown. From flowers, he knew, one couldn’t find anywhere aside from above the heavens and below hell. He put it back on and stood up. He was wearing his pants again and a couple of metres away, on an even rock, his white shirt was neatly folded. He smiled again, touching the fabric. Every time he offered, gave everything, and every time he woke up with his freedom within reach. But that was what one got when they danced for a god year after year, century after century.

He dusted his clothes off and headed for the path. Next year, he would be on a different mountain, with a different lake and different trees. But the moon and the skies and the stories the stars told…Those would be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> The answer is three.
> 
> The fox god of foxes, of fertility, rice, tea and sake, of agriculture and industry, of general prosperity and worldly success, Inari Ōkami (稲荷大神, also Ō-Inari 大稲荷).
> 
> The swan maiden, whose feathers get stolen and s/he is forced to marry the one who has stolen or destroyed them.
> 
> And the ritual of the Nestinari. The people who dance on burning embers, on red hot coals, to call for a good year and maybe even glimpse into the future.
> 
> Let me know how it is.


End file.
